The Corpse in the Courtyard

CHAPTER ONE

Two months later

The fourth day of Abu - Before Dawn

Jacob woke the way he always did. Waking was a transition from sleep to awareness without the fuzzy twilight time many people experienced. The fuzziness only happened when he was wounded or injured.

Jacob lay on the straw mattress. He felt unsettled, but couldn’t work out why. After a moment, he pushed the thoughts away and rolled over to his right side. The straw mattress rustled under him, some sharp ends poking at his ribs. Jacob ignored them and pushed the thin wool blanket off his chest and stomach, trying to get some air across his body.

It was mid-summer here in Babylon, and an oppressive heat had settled over the city three days before. Night time offered no relief and on each successive day the heat felt worse.

The heat made it impossible to work outside for most of the day. Jacob had attempted it and nearly fallen from the roof of the house he was building. He shook his head and smiled at the memory.

Not his best moment.

Thankfully, he had reached out and hooked his left arm round a piece of wood to avoid a serious fall.

Even now, two days later, Jacob shivered at the thought of trying to save himself by using just his weakened right arm. The muscles in his arm had never recovered from the wound inflicted by a Babylonian soldier during the siege of Jerusalem. The arm would never have held his weight.

The house he was building stood alone between the Inner Walls and the Outer Ramparts of Babylon, shielded from its neighbors by fruit orchards. If Jacob had fallen, it was unlikely anyone would hear his cries.

Not like Jerusalem, where inside or outside the city walls, it seemed everyone knew everyone’s business.

Jacob shifted his body again as nostalgia twisted his stomach. It was five long years since the Judeans had been forced into Exile by their Babylonian conquerors. He missed Jerusalem, the city of his birth, as much now as he had in those first months. Located high above the Judean plains, Jerusalem in mid-summer was a much cooler and much more pleasant place to live.

Jacob had built the house with the courtyard facing north, so it received the benefit of the prevailing wind for most of the year. Of course, at this time of year, when the weather was hottest, the prevailing wind shifted to come from the west. He smiled at that thought and considered the progress made over the past month.

When the house was complete, this room where he lay would be for guests. The open doorway giving access to the expansive courtyard that looked over orchards and small fields of corn and barley. Three other bedrooms completed this side of the house. One was for himself and Miriam, the woman he expected to marry within the next two moons. The others for the children he hoped for, although he had barely discussed the possibility with Miriam.

They were at least ten years older than other couples beginning a marriage, so perhaps there would be no children in their future. If that was the case, the rooms would be for guests.

Jacob shifted and rolled over again, seeing the slight fading of the night through the open doorway, and a thin rind of light creeping up from the eastern horizon.

Jacob estimated it was maybe an hour before sunrise, possibly a little longer. The time worried Jacob. He usually woke closer to the dawn, leaving himself enough time to dress and greet the rising sun with the morning Shema prayer.

It was too early for the birds to be moving in the orchards, and no noise from the rooster in the closest house over a hundred paces away.

The unsettled feeling returned, and now Jacob knew why.

Something, or someone, had disturbed him.

Jacob rolled off the mattress, slipped into a loose tunic and trews, pulled a short sword from the scabbard underneath his mattress, hefted the sword in his left hand, accustoming his arm once again to the weight and balance of the weapon.

Before the Exile, he had been a soldier. The habits he had learned a dozen years ago as a teenager remained with him.

Jacob crouched low, eased out of the room into the courtyard.

He moved slowly, a hand-span at a time, in case someone watched the house. The westerly wind, barely a breeze, eddied over the roof and moved the hot air from one place to another, providing no relief, bringing with it the heat smell like an empty pot left over a fire for too long.

He saw no movement, heard nothing except the chatter of the insects now he was out in the open. The insect hum told Jacob whoever, or whatever, had been here was gone. He relaxed a small amount, but kept the sword at the ready as he let his gaze travel over the outline of the building.

To his right, the house was almost finished. There was still work needed to cover the mud-brick walls, and Jacob wanted to add proper wooden doors rather than the cured hide panels the Babylonians favored.

On the left, with walls barely above waist height, were the servant’s quarters, and two rooms he considered the most important. The nearest room was Miriam’s workroom, where she could dry herbs and prepare the salves and tonics that many of the Exiles, especially the women, asked her to prepare.

Next to Miriam’s workroom was the kitchen. Jacob didn’t want a kitchen capable of preparing enormous feasts. He wanted a kitchen large enough to cook for ten or twenty people so he could repay the hospitality many Exiles and Babylonians had shown him over the five years of Exile.

There were piles of mud-bricks and lengths of Lebanese cedar stacked beside the walls. Everything angular and sharp-edged, as it should be.

A part of Jacob wanted to relax, to walk across the courtyard and relax on one of the wooden couches and meditate until the sun lifted over the horizon and he could celebrate the Shema prayer. He turned, studied the opposite side of the courtyard where the rooms were finished, and at the end of the eastern side of the wall, he saw a heap of something out of place.

The heap could be debris and waste waiting to be cleared away.

Jacob didn’t think so. He had placed nothing on that side of the house in the last six or seven days.

He stayed beside the wall, feeling the rough brick scrape across his right shoulder.

His heart pounded hard in his chest. Jacob felt the lift of awareness that always came just before a skirmish or battle. Any feeling or thought of tiredness or fatigue disappeared.

Jacob kept his right side close to the wall, glanced behind him. It was a habit he learned while leading his soldiers on night raids against the Babylonian army during the siege of Jerusalem.

There was no-one behind him. He hadn’t expected there to be. Only two of those soldiers remained alive.

The memory made him shiver. He pushed the thought aside, crept slowly along the wall toward the pile.

Fifteen paces away, he felt the slick twist in his gut as he recognized the pile for what it was.

Jacob lowered the sword and changed direction toward the half-finished kitchen. He placed the sword on the top of the waist-high wall, picked up a sliver of kindling, and uncovered the embers of the cooking fire. He blew carefully on the ashes until they glowed bright red in the semi-darkness, then pushed the kindling in, holding it there until light flared.

Shielding the flame with his right hand, Jacob touched the kindling to the wick of a sesame oil lamp placed beside the fireplace. He held the burning kindling against the wick until the flame was all burning sesame oil.

The line of light on the eastern horizon was wider and brighter, but Jacob still needed the lamp to see properly as he reached the pile.

What at first appeared to be rags was a ripped cloak bundled round a body. The legs were bound with rags, the left foot twisted at an impossible angle.

Jacob reached with his left hand for the shoulder of the cloak and rolled the body over. As the body shifted, the cloak flapped open, revealing a naked torso with bruises and wounds across the stomach, chest, and neck.

The man’s face was a bloodied mask, his nose broken, eyes wide and looking at the sky without seeing.

Jacob felt the chill run up his spine. His throat closed up and tears sprang into his eyes. Jacob reached over and gently closed the man’s eyes, saying a prayer as he did so.

Palti. Nabu. Eleazar. Ithamara.

And now Asher.

Five soldiers who fought for Jerusalem and Judah.

Jacob was now the only one alive.

CHAPTER TWO

The fourth day of Abu - Early Morning

The prayer shawl was heavy and scratchy on Miriam’s shoulders. She tried lifting the shawl, moving it so she could get air to her neck and shoulders. The challenge was the air was hot and dry. Even the slight movement of the shawl was no relief. It made the heat feel worse.

She had slept poorly. A combination of her courses, and the hot air, heavy and oppressive over Babylon’s Inner City. The closely packed mud-brick buildings absorbed the burning heat of the day and let it out at night, making every room seem close to a furnace like the ones burning day and night in the village of Kweiresh to the north of the city.

Miriam stood in the courtyard of the house belonging to her cousin, Esther’s family. The family had taken her in during the trek into Exile after Miriam’s husband disappeared. The search found nothing. Her husband was presumed dead, leaving Miriam a widow.

Esther stood next to Miriam, shorter by a head, thick around the waist, and heavy in the breast. She was six years older than Miriam and beads of perspiration sparkled on her brow as she tried to keep her two young sons attentive while her husband Isaac led the recital of the morning Shema prayer.

As the daughter, and widow, of priests, Miriam knew the words and cadence of Shema well enough that she could make the responses automatically.

Today, though, despite the heat and her cramping abdomen, she felt the prayers were important, more deserving of her attention than usual. She didn’t like this feeling.

Usually, when this happened, it meant something was wrong somewhere in her life.

As Isaac finished the last prayer, Miriam offered a prayer of her own, asking that Jacob be safe. She could deal with troubles of her own, but feared for Jacob.

With her personal devotion completed, Miriam slipped the shawl off her shoulders and folded it. The wool felt damp where it had laid across her back. Many more days of this heat and the shawl would require washing, or it would smell bad and distract everyone from Shema.

As she draped the shawl over her arm, Esther’s youngest darted away from his mother toward the doorway into the street, where Isaac talked with a man Miriam didn’t recognize.

Miriam bent down, hooked her arm round the boy’s waist, let his momentum swing him off his feet. He hung on her arm, legs flailing, voice wailing until Esther relieved Miriam of the burden.

We eat first, then you have lessons, Esther said to her son. She hoisted him in her arms and carried him across to the table where the servants were laying out plates of fruit and nuts, and jugs of water.

Miriam waited for the boys to settle before taking her place on the long bench that let her see the full expanse of the courtyard. To her left, stairs led up to a balcony and the second story. Opposite the stairs were the doors to the kitchen. Miriam gave thanks she had no responsibilities there, for even with the cooking fire banked down to embers, it would be burning hot inside.

She reached for a handful of dates, then let them fall as she caught one of the water jugs, toppled by the eldest boy, and set it upright and out of his reach.

I don’t know if it’s the heat, or a joint attempt by the boys to put me out of my mind, Esther said as she joined Miriam on the bench. She tilted her head and studied Miriam. Are you all right?

Miriam nodded, picked up a handful of dates without incident. The heat, I expect, and then in a lower voice so only Esther could hear. And the last of my courses.

Then stay out of the sun and drink water, Esther said.

I’ll do that.

Miriam had a selection of dried herbs ready to be crushed and blended. The work would keep her occupied.

Water was a good idea as well. Miriam poured herself a goblet full, then a second, which she handed to Isaac as he dropped onto the bench opposite.

A big man with wide shoulders and a belly rounding to fat, Isaac’s weight made the bench creak, and the table shudder. His round chubby face was already flushed with the heat. He downed the water in one long swallow, poured another, and reached for the melon slices. The flush had faded, but bright scarlet spots persisted high on his cheeks.

Whatever message the stranger had brought, Miriam guessed it had upset and angered Isaac.

Miriam considered asking Isaac about it, but he spoke first.

Miriam, do you know where Jacob is today?

Not for certain. He worked at the house yesterday and planned to sleep there overnight. I expect that’s the best place to look for him. Is something wrong?

Probably, Isaac said, reaching out and capturing his oldest son’s hand in his own as the boy made to throw a date at his brother. Any more of that and there’ll be extra lessons for both of you.

Isaac returned his attention to Miriam, something different in his voice. The man was a messenger from the caravan grounds. My men were leaving for Erech at first light when guards from the temple of Marduk stopped them. It seems the travel permits issued by the temple have been revoked.

Just yours, or every merchant? Esther didn’t sound worried.

Every Judean merchant, and every merchant associated with Judeans. Bel Ibni had two caravans stopped, Isaac said.

This time Miriam recognized the something different. Isaac was anxious. Jacob would be just as concerned. He was Bel Ibni’s business manager.

If Jacob has heard about it, I’m sure he’s on his way to the temple of Marduk, Miriam said.

The temple is my next destination, Jacob said from the street doorway where he stood beside Solly, the elderly retainer who had been with Isaac’s family for many years. Now, Solly performed the duties of door guard, and occasional chaperone for Miriam.

Miriam thought Jacob sounded exhausted.

She looked closely at him, saw the pain on his face. It was something bone-deep and searing. His shoulders slumped and his face looked haggard. His tunic was scuffed and stained with what looked like blood.

She grabbed her water goblet, wriggled out of the seat, and took it to him. "Drink this. What happened? Are you